


Camisado

by Lionhearted7



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M, Past Torture, Rescue Missions, Shooting Guns, sarcasm as coping with trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-26
Updated: 2018-05-26
Packaged: 2019-05-14 01:40:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,156
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14760167
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lionhearted7/pseuds/Lionhearted7
Summary: Self-indulgent Panic! at the Disco fueled rescue mission fic. Sebastian breaks Moriarty out of Mycroft's facility. That's pretty much all of it.





	Camisado

Sebastian Moran had briefly entertained the notion of going in, guns blazing, shooting anything that moved, grabbing Jim, and blazing back out. But that was a stupid idea, he knew, because he was one man going up a very secret facility against men who might already know he was coming. So stealth was the name of the game. It had been fairly easy, up till now, to take out this or that guard, knock out the power to the main building, and creep into the underground prison vault while everyone else was running around like idiots. It had been easier to still to locate Jim’s cell, seeing as it was stupidly marked with a “Moriarty, J.” sign.

The hardest part was waiting for the moment to strike.

The two-way mirror outside the cell was going to be quite useful, but at the same time, he wanted to shoot it to pieces for what it was showing him. Jim, tied to a chair in the centre of the room, staring at nothing, while two men growled questions at him. Jim’s face was covered in bruises, and Sebastian could see more where the teeshirt they have him wearing gapes at the neck, as well as what looks like electrical burns. He’s thinner than when Sebastian saw him three weeks ago, and his lips are chapped. His eyes are steady, clear and beautiful, even with the shadows under them that tell Sebastian Jim probably hasn’t slept either. He bites his tongue, hard, rage building in him slowly, and his nails dig into the skin of his palm when one of the men backhands Jim across the face, re-opening the split in his lip.

Jim licks the blood with a small smile and then his head quirks, like he’s heard something. The men threatening him don’t seem to notice, but Jim’s eyes slowly raise, and lock on Sebastian’s exact position on the other side of the mirror. Seb feels the breath knocked out of him at the sheer relief shinning in Jim’s eyes, and the slow, frightening smile that spreads across his face. Jim knows. Somehow, he knows Sebastian is there. And he knows exactly what’s going to happen to these men now.

While Sebastian is elated to see the smile, it seems to unnerve the two men. One of them mutters something to the other, and he shrugs. Sebastian sees him mouth, “Freaky bastard. We’ll come back tomorrow.” He gestures for something, and his companion, who has since drifted behind Jim, pulls a black hood over Jim’s head and tightens it around his throat. Sebastian watches Jim’s whole body tense, and, only because he’s listening for it, hears the soft whimper.  He knows this is the moment he was waiting for.

Not many people know, (in fact, Seb suspects he may be the only one) but Jim Moriarty is claustrophobic. Not in the traditional sense, not just small spaces. He can be in an elevator just fine, a small car won’t bother him. It’s when he has no exit, when there’s no escape route, that the man starts to panic. Sebastian first discovered the fear when he backed Jim into an alley, the third time they met, demanding answers. He’d trapped Jim between his body and the wall, using his height and weight to pin him there in that tiny space. Jim had reacted like a caged animal, clawing at Seb’s face, kicking him in the stomach, until he’s been at the other side of Sebastian, with the exit at his back. Only then had he composed himself and issued the threat that if Sebastian ever tried to trap him again, he’s make him swallow his own fingernails.

The idea that they’d been leaving Jim like this, hooded, minimal oxygen, unable to tear free of the chair or the room… it was Jim’s worst nightmare. And Sebastian wasn’t going to let it stand another minute.

When the men opened the door, he was waiting. The first man, he met a quick end, a bullet straight between the eyes. The second, he was quicker. He aimed a punch at Seb’s jaw, which the marksman dodged, grabbing the offending hand and snapping the wrist. A knee to the stomach and the man was down, and Sebastian snapped his neck, quick and clean. He holstered the gun, and ran to Jim, tearing the hood from his head.

It was only for a split second, right as the hood came off, but Sebastian saw the look of childlike terror that Jim had been wearing under the hood. Jim looks up at him, and the look is gone from everything but his eyes. Seb takes the moment to offer Jim a smile, and then Moriarty is back, strong and confident.

“And what took you so long?” He asks, voice hoarse with disuse, but still clear. “I was beginning to think you’d forgotten me.”

“As if I could.” Seb grouses back, kneeling behind Jim to untie him from the chair. Jim’s hands are shaking, but he knows better than to comment. “Your shit is all over my flat.”

“Our flat.”

“My flat, your flat, our flat, whatever. It’s covered in experiments, and you nailed your latest screenplay to the wall with my best knife.” He pressed his hand lightly to Jim’s shoulder, the scarred one, the one where Sebastian left his mark, a perfectly carved “M”. “I need you to come home and clean up your mess.”

Jim looks up at him, pressing his hand to the matching “M” on Seb’s hip. “Clean it yourself.”

Sebastian starts to reply, but somewhere down the hall, an alarm sounds, and Jim chuckles softly.

“Seems Mr. Holmes’ people have noticed something amiss. Dear me. I do hope you have an escape plan?” Sebastian grins.

“I’ve got three. Can you walk?” Jim gives him a withering look, pushing himself out of the chair to stand.

“Of course I can walk, you imbil-“ He takes a step and collapses, and it’s only the fact that Sebastian had been ready for this that keeps him from meeting the floor. He leans heavily against Sebastian’s chest. “Don’t you say a bloody word.”

“Nothing to say, boss, nothing at all.” Seb pulls a second, smaller gun from his waistband and hands it to Jim, who looks at it with distaste. “Don’t start with me, Jim, if I’m carrying you, I can’t exactly shoot back.”

“I bet you could if you tried.” Jim informs him, and Sebastian silences him with a soft kiss.

“I worried.”

“I didn’t. I knew you’d come.”

“Always.” Seb twists to lift Jim onto his back, ignoring for now the small pained noise Jim makes. True to Jim’s words, he draws his other gun, perfectly able to manage Jim’s slight weight and the weapon.

“Let’s get out of here.” Jim murmurs in his ear, more of a plea than an order, but Sebastian treats it as the later.

“Yes, sir.”


End file.
